’ The expression on Emile Gosse’s face was vicious under the smile. " "It wasn't the fumes of whisky that toppled him out of his chair. And so gentle as the poor creature is, when she's not in her wild fits—it would melt a heart of stone to see her. Crack went the whip, and away floundered the heavy vehicle through the deep ruts of the ill-kept road, or rather lane, (for it was little better,) which, then, led across Southampton Fields.
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